To the tune of "Rinsing Silk Stream" <br /> <br />My courtyard is small, windows idle, <br /> spring is getting old. <br />Screens unrolled cast heavy shadows. <br />In my upper-story chamber, speechless, <br /> I play on my jasper lute. <br /> <br />Clouds rising from distant mountains <br /> hasten the fall of dusk. <br />Gentle wind and drizzling rain <br /> cause a pervading gloom. <br />Pear blossoms can hardly keep from withering, <br /> but droop.<br /><br />Li Ching Chao<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tz-u-no-8/
